The Book of the Blessed

The Boro was so large that without the lifts which had been built in recent centuries, it would have been impossible to move quickly through its length. The Great Hall was in the High Boro, that complex of halls and towers that made the central keep. Still Cedd and Anson traveled up many floors in a creaking lift and down quiet halls to reach their father.

Neither spoke for a long while.

At last, Cedd said, “I am scared, too.”

Anson nodded. They continued down the long, barely lit hall to their father’s chambers, and before they reached the place always kept lit, always discreetly manned by guards, Anson said, “There was a time when we were close. Perhaps we will be again.”

“I would like that,” his black haired brother said.

Anson gauged his tone for meaning, wondering how serious he was, doubting it and telling his heart to cease doubting.

Wordlessly, the guards opened the doors to the King’s apartments and now they were in a lit and carpeted area of corridors and anterooms, and the door to the King’s immense bedchamber was open. Cedd entered first, though they both noted that it had been Anson’s impulse to first enter.

They both noticed that their youngest sister, Princess Imogen, was there. She had not been at supper, but by now they were used to the black haired girl going where she wished. They should have known she would be here.

The curtains were open to show a white moon high in a black sky, and as they came to the bed, Anson was struck anew by how frail his father looked. He only heard Cedd gasp a little. Both of them went to their knees before their father who sat up in bed and placed his hands on their heads.

Anthal had always been an old man. He and his brother, king before him, had been dispossessed by an uncle and fought their way back to the throne of Westrial, gaining help from the Rootless Isle. This was how Anthal had met Anson’s mother, so the King had said. She had been a girl back then, much younger than him. He had married the black haired Tourmaline, a northern princess, Cedd’s mother.

As the King’s sons arrived, Imogen stood and bowed, moving for them to take her place. Anthal’s hand massaged Anson’s head tenderly and he murmured, voice hoarse, “My boys, my boys, my boys. Your sisters are on their way. They will be here in time.”

Both men looked up, a pain shooting through them.

“No,” the King said gently, “I did not mean for my death, though that cannot be far off. But for the coronation.”

Behind them, Imogen sucked in her breath, but said nothing. They both looked confused, and Anthal continued, wearily, “The court, the land, factions… have always pitted my beautiful boys against each other. When I am gone…”

Anthal drifted off and then he said, “I want it made firm while I live. I want to see the crown on Cedd’s head the day after tomorrow. Do you understand?”

“That was why they were dressing the Cathedral!” Anson discovered.

“Yes,” Anthal said.

“The day after tomorrow…?” Cedd wondered.

“Will you support your brother?” the King said to Anson.

“With my life, Father!”

Then Anson turned to Cedd and said, “With my life.”

“And will you uphold the only brother you have?” Anthal charged Cedd.

The handsome older prince looked sharply at Anson, his black eyes serious.

He said, “I will.”

Other things were going on about the hall, and under the mural of Saint Silen established the Hermitage, and Saint Cyfan of the Rock teaching his first disciples, there was, ironically, the richest woman in the city being hit on by a young fop.

Under the mural of the Coronation of King Athelstan by Archbishop Ambrose, the Lady Audrey was sitting amongst a number of ladies where she was clearly the least, and looking at her singing husband in wonder. When Austin was done singing, Pol stood up and Ash noted that, though he was not wearing hose Pol was wearing the most snug leather trews he had seen in some time.

“I will speak with our little songbird,” Pol said, inching away, “and see what he wishes to sing about later on.”

As Ash watched him walking away, and noticed the Lady Sanessa doing the same, he murmured, “Why, when he says, speak with our songbird, does it sound like ‘eat our songbird?’”

But there was no time to wonder about this. Back into the hall came the two princes, looking confounded, a little flabbergasted. Cedd took his central seat, but Anson came behind Ash and whispered:

“Father has sent a letter to the Abbey. He’s planning to have Cedd’s coronation the day after tomorrow, giving one day for the city to gather.”

Ash nodded and Anson said, “You already knew.”

“Of course.”

Anson thumped on the back of Ash’s seat. “Get your going out clothes, ready, wizard. I’ll be needing a drink.”

The Near West Counties

That night they stayed in a village called Nine Forks, which was in the middle of a small deep valley, with large, long low roofed houses half circling a silver lake.

“Had you been here before?” Wolf asked Myrne as he went to put his horse in the stable.

“No,” Myrne said. “I came a different way. I was coming from the south by the sea. The last village I remember is the one we passed an hour ago.”

As they entered the tavern full of the smell of shepherd’s pie and the noises of the town gathering spot, Myrne added, “I imagine tomorrow, as we come closer to the capital, we should see more towns. Even some palaces of rich lords.”

“We did see one castle.”

“Even from a distance I do not think it belonged to a very rich lord,” Myrne said. “I would not be surprised it if was empty and the family had gone away long ago.”

They found their own table, and soon an old man asked them what they’d be having and Wolf replied that he wanted the house special.

“That’s good cause it’s all we got,” the man said, plainly.

“Then why in the world did you ask us what we wanted?”

“People like to think they have options,” the man said with a shrug. “Whaddo you be drinkin tonight?”

“Do we have options?” Myrne asked while Wolf covered his mouth.

“Ale and water. Wine too.”

“Ale,” Wolf said.

“I’ll have water.”

“She’ll have an ale as well,” Wolf said. The man nodded, and went away.

“Who do you think you are?” she asked Wolf. “And who does he think he is? If I say I’ll have water, well then let me have water.”

“Howabout you have water and ale?” Wolf asked her. “We can both have water and ale.”

“I can’t wait till that food gets here,” Myrne decided, “anything to keep your mouth stuffed.

“Why are you going to Kingsboro, anyway?” Myrne said.

“My master is at the palace. I am going to attend him, travel back with him. Right now he is with King Anthal, but when we leave he will leave with me.”

Myrne frowned and Wolf said, “Did I say something unpleasant?”

“Don’t be foolish,” she said as the innkeeper came back with two tankards of ale and a basket of hot bread.

“Thank you,” she said absently while Wolf said the same, toasting the man.

“No,” Myrne said again. “It’s only… I felt something. Something strange when you said that, and I’ve been sorting through my strange feelings since I was seven years old. Tell me about this master.”

“I do not know if you have heard of the Lord Ohean Penannyn?”

“Are you serious?” Myrne said.

“Well, yes.”

“You are the servant of Ohean?”

“Well,” Wolf took a hunk of bread and opened it, the steam wafting out as he reached for a round hunk of butter. “I wouldn’t say servant so much as assistant.”

“Gods!” Myrne murmured, swooning. “I have to master myself.”

“Lady,” Wolf put the bread down and looked more serious than he had before, “Are you well. For real?”

“It is not that bald lie you told about being a sorcerer’s apprentice,” she said, “but something else… Sometimes I am struck by the power.”

Wolf frowned, watching the girl flush, getting ready to call for water, when Myrne said, “Do you have a means of reaching him? Without being in his presence?”

“Magic?”

“That too, but some wealthy people have devices that reach over long distances.”

“I do not,’ Wolf said, plainly.

“Then we will have to reach Master Ash as soon as possible.”

“Why?”

It was now that Myrne finally took a great hunk of bread and began to butter it. She took a most unladylike plug of ale and, wiping her red mouth, she said, “I do not know. Not really. He has attached himself to someone. To something. I will attempt to see it if I can. But if he does not leave soon, it or he or she, will be in danger.”

Myrne chewed on the bread thoroughly and, mouthful, she said, “There is sickness in this land.”

She leaned forward and whispered to Wolf, surprisingly offhandedly:

“The King is dying.”